Open
by Hagall
Summary: ...open in a nice, nondangerous way, open like an elevator with no sides at the top of a tall, tall building... Sortofyaoiness... then again, it's barely there. Rated as a precaution. HijiriSoka


**Disclaimer: I no own. You no sue.**

**Othela:** OK! _(rubs hands)_ I've not written for AGES, and this is the first time I've ever posted any Yami no Matsuei so… if anyone reads, please review! Thanks!

** WARNINGS: ** Whilst there's nothing really naughty about this fic there is... _ togetherness _ between Hisoka and Hijiri. I wouldn't really know what to call it, since it's not really yaoi. Ideas???

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** Open **

I honestly never understood _exactly_ how important a musician's instrument is. I'd started to get an idea as we had walking from one shop to another, testing (watching Hijiri test) dozens of violins... but even then it took me a while to understand why he kept refusing them.

At first I'd put it down to pickiness. But there's a difference between pickiness and perfectionism. And musicians have to be the biggest perfectionists out there.

They are also incredibly unrestrained. That is, emotionally. Hijiri was not an exception to this rule… although I admit I made the rule from watching him, particularly today. His feelings rolled off him as he tried each violin, and he seemed to get locked into a cycle of sorts, starting over again with each proffered instrument.

Hope would come first. His eyebrows would draw together and his hands would fidget a little on the strings and holding the bow: perhaps _this_ would be the one. Then, as he would place the violin in the crook of his shoulder, holding it there with his chin, there would be anticipation. He held the bow with his little finger stuck out and would tuck it in neatly as he centred himself and prepared, the anticipation disappearing…

And then, when the bow was millimetres from the strings, a jarring explosion of disappointment. I should have expected it every time yet somehow… it always managed to catch me by surprise.

But with the last one he tried… it was different. It's almost like he knew it straight away, lifted it from its case with respect, bordering on reverence, knew it intimately, held it tenderly, like a lover. There was no anticipation when he played, only a heart-aching bliss that started at the first note and thrummed on long after the last had faded away. There was a smile on his face.

I thought of the word 'whoosh'.

… I had to smile too, because Hijiri looked completely in love. He knows how to handle the instrument, but he touches it, holds it, like it might break. He is… so very open. I can feel everything and yet, there's nothing abrupt or malicious or overpowering… there's nothing startling about him. Nothing frightening about his emotions at all…

The violin now sits untouched and beautiful in its case, open on the table. It smells like lacquer and velvet, reflects the rays of the setting sun, needs to be played.

"Hisoka?" I glance up. He's talking to me.

"Hmm?"

"Do you play an instrument?" The unexpected question makes me hesitate (stupid!).

"Oh, ah… no. No I don't." Hesitation. His eyes seem to be prompting me – does he expect me to say more, or do I want to? "I suppose I've considered it once or twice but I've never…" Gods I'm babbling, babbling like a fool. I must remember that Tsuzuki is infectious.

Hijiri's has the violin in his hands. He's holding it out to me.

Oh-no-no…

"How would you like your first lesson?" Total sincerity. Completely open, Hijiri, open in a nice, non-dangerous way, open like an elevator with no sides at the top of a tall, tall building with a cable that snaps and then there's a freefall…

It's funny, the things I come up with.

I'm aware that I'm trying lamely, "No… that's OK, I'll probably break it…" My voice sounds – feels – forced, like Tsuzuki's does sometimes, and my mind scrabbles frantically for some kind of foothold.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Hijiri's reassuring me, I think: "Of course you won't break it…" sincere, sincere, sincere… and I dimly realise I'm searching for a threat I'm never going to find.

The strings of the violin are fine and delicate, especially that one closest to Hijiri's hand, stretched taut, thin like hair, strong like wire, and I don't want it touching my fingertips, cutting into my skin, into my neck.

Oh.

Hijiri's putting the violin in my hands.

… what am I doing?

I must have stood up at some point. I must have agreed.

I must look completely fine, and not as conflicted as I feel.

"Lift up your head!" He seems very amused as he corrects my posture, gently turns my head and tilts my chin and fits the violin there. "Good grief, Hisoka, relax!"

"I _am_ relaxed." I reply through gritted teeth. I'm not. I'm all awkward angles and I feel utterly ridiculous. Hijiri chuckles and moves behind me, now thoroughly into his lesson. I'm not sure what to do… his left hand closes around my left wrist, his right hand around mine, showing me how to hold the violin and the bow properly.

He's explaining things to me and I think I'm nodding or murmuring at the random facts he comes out with, like the strings are G, D, A and E (the thin one is E… I wonder why they aren't in alphabetical order…) and the bow is made from… horses?

I'm not really listening. I'm trying to figure out whether or not I'm enjoying the attention as much as Hijiri is enjoying giving it to me… and feeling very guilty that I'm not returning it.

"…Hisoka?"

_He enjoys giving me the attention._

_What does that mean?_

He's leaning forward so that his mouth is by my ear: he's not speaking loudly, but his concern echoes. "Are you okay?"

He's practically wrapped around me, I realise. And suddenly the closeness is too much – why hadn't I noticed it before? – and I need to break away. I had to tilt my head closer to him to get away from the violin, but I manage to leave it in his hands and cross away from him to the window.

It's twilight now, almost dark. The sun is descending. Across the water, the light looks nice. I try to lose myself in the aesthetic…

Hijiri is still standing there with the violin in his hands. I can't read his expression in the glass.

"I'm sorry," He hasn't raised his voice from before, but it still reaches me easily. "That was a little… I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

The silence is Not-Awkward, and Hijiri is Not-Angry.

His touch on my shoulder is very, very light. I didn't notice him put down the violin and come over.

"I wanted to…" he trails off, hesitates.

Not-Awkward.

I feel myself turning to him. My hand drifts up for his and I feel him try to pull away.

Worried for me…

"Don't be." I repeat, then realise it doesn't make any sense. "Worried, I mean… don't be." I'm holding his hand a little more tightly now. There's a gentle pressure against my hand and I don't need to pull away. His emotions seem much less… _there_.

"I just wanted to thank you for today… I enjoyed being with you…" He's holding back… so that he can hold back. "Thank you for coming, even though it was boring." _Boring? What are you talking about?_

"It wasn't boring, idiot. I enjoyed…" Watching you? Being with you? No… I'm not quite prepared to finish the sentence that way. "…it. Too."

Bravo.

I let myself lean into him, my head resting against his shoulder. A sudden spark of surprise – Hijiri's – races up my spine and makes me shiver. His hand slips down across my chest and the other one joins it, holding me gently.

This is nice. This is OK. This openness is completely safe.

**Othela:** Hmm. _Well!_ I started that without quite knowing where I was going with it so… I hope it's OK…

Please review! It would be really encouraging if I could have some feedback!


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